


In the Dying Light

by iwtv



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, because james needs mass amounts of gay love, but slow burns into an ot3, post-show, this starts out as james/thomas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 03:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9579539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: Thomas has been reunited with James. James is no long a pirate captain, having passed the mantle over to Silver. He and Thomas now live in a new house in Nassau’s interior. Neither one of them yet knows what to make of each other or their new life. John Silver complicates things further. Also, let’s pretend there was no great war for control of the Bahamas and that things just sort of blew over; trying to focus on the aftermath of season 3 just didn’t fit into this story at all so yea.final word count: 22k





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ch.1 notes: So this wasn’t intended to be an ot3 when I started it, but fucking Silver just wouldn’t stay out of it! It just happened along the way, so heavy James/Thomas at first, but then *other* things start to develop :) Also the beginning is in sections to indicate the passage of time because I was desperately trying not to write something *too* massive (haha), but it evens out gradually (I think).

In the dying light, the sea was like smoke colored glass, so smooth and still looking it was easy to imagine it wasn’t a rollicking, ceaseless thing that gifted men with travel but also destroyed them if it so chose.

He knew those twilight waters well, but the pond he sat in front of now carried no trace of hidden hostilities; its harshest motion was the gentle lapping of a weak current against its tiny shore. He thought on it for some time, watched as the rays from the failing sun moved across its surface without really moving; a long and drawn-out illusion that only worked if you kept staring and didn’t look away.

Eventually it grew dark. He shifted on the lone wooden bench. It looked out of place, with only the pond and the rest of nature around the foreign object and himself. He had built it from scratch, calling upon his long-disused carpentry skills at Thomas’s behest. He had mentioned sitting out here, facing the pond and the ocean beyond it, just once or twice off-handedly, and in his gentle yet determined way Thomas had convinced him to build a bench. It would give him something to do. And though neither of them mentioned it, that was the real reason for Thomas’s insistence; he was worried about him. Thomas thought if he had something to occupy his mind with these days, it would help.

Truth be told, he’d enjoyed building the thing—or had come as close to enjoying it as he did anything, which was to say it did indeed occupy his mind and kept him from dwelling in all the dark corners for a time.

For a time.

He ran a palm over its smooth seat in the darkness. Something his father, the real carpenter, would have been proud of, no doubt. He often wondered what Mr. McGraw’s reaction would have been if he had learned that his only son liked men. He’d thought about it off and on throughout the years; a small splinter amongst his more pressing miseries. He would not have been pleased, to say the least, but on the upside he’d never known his father to be a hateful man, at least not in his presence.

Surely he would never have treated his son with the same level of disdain that Thomas’s father had shown to him. Even now he snarled at the thought of Alfred Hamilton, long dead by his own vengeful hand. He regretted killing many men, but Hamilton Sr. was not among them. If anything his hatred of the man had only grown worse, and how could it not? Now that he and Thomas were together again, he was realizing just how much Thomas’s father had destroyed.

As if summoned by his mere thoughts, James turned at the sound of footsteps behind. A small ball of light from a lantern illuminated Thomas’s face in the dark, his fair hair and complexion looking even whiter, like a ghost’s.

Their eyes met briefly and Thomas sat down on the bench beside him, resting the lantern between them. James returned his gaze to the pond. Whereas it had looked smoky before, its surface was now like black ink, with only the starlight and a thumbnail of a moon to reveal it wasn’t, in fact, a solid mass but a moveable form. Another illusion.

He let out a bitter scoffing sound at the thought, wondering if that was all he and Thomas had left between one another.

“It’s a beautiful spot,” said Thomas, now that the silence had been broken. “Perhaps when it isn’t quite so warm during the days, we can get more use out of it. When did you say the winter season began here?”

“December and January. That’s it, really.”

“Well, I can’t complain about the constant warmth. That’s certainly an improvement over England. I shan’t ever miss its foul weather. I imagine you don’t either.”

James shook his head in agreement but didn’t reply. The silence after Thomas’s sentence seemed to hang in the air, and he found himself likening the phrase ‘foul weather’ to encompass his feelings regarding every fucking thing about England. It was ridiculous, really, that they couldn’t even mention their homeland without the tension between them from flaring up. He loathed it but didn’t know how to make it go away.

“I’m going into town tomorrow,” Thomas tried again. “Mr. Rackham has agreed to show me around properly.”

James looked at him with a raised brow.

“I only meant that since my arrival here, things have been…in flux,” said Thomas with all the care of doing intricate needlework in hopes of not pricking the wrong thing. “I know you’ve been busy wrapping up matters with your crew. But it’s been a month. I feel like a hermit out here.”

James detected the note of frustration to his tone. It was true—he had brought Thomas out here to a newly-built homestead little more than two months ago. Briefly he had taken him to Nassau Town but only to the inn and tavern, where all business was still conducted. Then they’d come back here and he had told him to settle in and try to relax.

He had wanted them to have time to themselves, thinking that would be the beginning of a new start for them. Instead James had found himself having difficulties in coping with no longer being a pirate captain, as well as a confounding inability to open up to Thomas about much of anything.

Everything hurt. All the time.

He had been so eager to return Captain Flint to the seas, as he’d professed to both Miranda and John, but he hadn’t truly been prepared to do it, and that realization bothered him most of all. Living with Thomas—hell, *being* with Thomas, in the same room, breathing the same air—was like learning to be human all over again. And Thomas seemed to be experiencing the same difficulties. There were times when James ached to touch him, to hold him, to say something meaningful, but one look into those blue eyes would deflate him instantly; they were filled with sorrow and worry and the still-raw pain of losing his wife. So James neither said nor did anything, hoping that time would works its magic.

Time, it seemed, had no magic. Though Thomas sat a mere foot away from him he might as well be across the ocean. James winced, chest feeling heavy.

“I think I’m going to bed early,” he said, rising.

Thomas snapped to attention; he’d been focused on something far away, although it was too dark to see anything.

“James,” he said, fixing him with those blue eyes. Two shining sapphires in a ghost’s face.

“Yes?”

Thomas took a breath, then let it out, shoulders sagging as he rose. James watched him as he stepped in close, almost fearful, lips parting. A sharp pang hit James in the gut at the thought of Thomas being wary to get close to him; that was his fault.

He let Thomas’s lips brush against his and he did the same in return, dry lips on dry lips, nothing more. Thomas’s hand was on his shoulder. It was warm. Not a ghost’s.

“We need to talk soon,” he said.

James had heard this before. And as before, he simply nodded and replied, “All right. Later. Good night.”

*No, you fucking idiot. Hug him, kiss him hard, tell him you love him.*

He turned and left the bench, walking along the barely visible path back to the house.

“At least take the light,” Thomas called after him.

“I can see fine in the dark,” he replied, forcing down the walnut that had risen in his throat.

\--------

Thomas stared through the window pane of the bedroom, waiting for sleep to find him.

He’d taken to adding a small amount of laudanum to his nightcap since coming to this place, their house. In London he’d known friends who spoke of using the opiate to help them sleep, though he had found it distasteful, thinking them to be secret addicts. He had always been a sound sleeper than and had never had a reason to try the stuff. Especially when James’s arms had been wrapped around him; he slept quite well.

Now, however, the calm of bedtime always brought too many thoughts with it, picking his brain the way a bit of undigested or not-quite-right food might unsettle the stomach. He only wished the unpleasant thoughts could be as mundane as a bad supper.

James lay beside him, having gone to bed early. He was sleeping peacefully. He could have been in another bed, in another room for all intents and purposes, however. They scarcely paid any attention to one another in this space.

Thomas fixed his gaze on Orion’s Belt outside the window. It was the constellation he’d discovered was always in view from this window during this time of year. It was also one of the few star groupings he knew. He could remember pointing it out to James, who had called it by a different name—a mariner’s name—and they had shared their versions of the lore connected to the far-away pinpricks in the sky. Once they had laid down in the cool grass side by side and James and turned and smiled at him…

Damn.

Thomas felt the familiar choking sensation rise to the back of his gullet and all the feelings tied to the memory. He forced it back down inside him. Tomorrow, he told himself. Focus on tomorrow. A faint smile came to his lips as the heaviness of the laudanum began to take hold, and he recalled Shakespeare: Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow…

\--------

He went into town the next day as promised. James remained at the homestead, wanting to continue fixing it up. Thomas was appreciative of the time to himself since it allowed his thoughts to focus on something other than James, and the venture proved to be an exciting experience, if not always pleasant. Nassau—and by extension New Providence—was a place warped into something altogether different than England (and therefore the rest of the world as he knew it), and the discovery of this was as interesting as it could be appalling.

Here people of many different creeds and colors and customs all mingled together in a way Thomas had never seen before—the gentle with the rough, the sweet with the lewd, the rich with the poor, the black with the white.

Never had he seen such variety of the human race living and working together. He knew better than to believe it was always a harmonious affair, yet despite himself Thomas couldn’t help but feel a tug of hope at his heart. This was, after all, what he and James had so passionately envisioned so many years ago. Despite Nassau being a pirate’s haven, in many ways his plan was working here. He wondered if James saw in the same light.

His meeting with Jack Rackham proved fruitful, and after being shown around town he returned to the interior, his horse laden with everything from new linens and stockings to bottles of ink and fresh fruit, and he’d even found a couple of books—a collection of Plato he used to own and had missed, as well as a collection of medieval poetry.

James was splitting wood out back when he returned, and he marveled with a slight grin at the small mountain of things Thomas let spill out over the kitchen table.

“I see you haven’t lost your taste for spending money,” he said dryly.

“I was pleasantly surprised,” Thomas replied, sorting through the pile and handing him a new shirt and stockings. “You didn’t give Nassau enough credit, really,” he added.

James held up the white stockings with a thumb and forefinger.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

Thomas shrugged, drying not to let his disappointment show. “Just in case. For special occasions, or if you ever need to not dress like a pirate.”

He immediately winced, cursing himself inwardly. James looked at him sadly before gently placing the stockings over the shirt and wordlessly taking them back to the bedroom. Thomas leaned heavily against the table top and rubbed his eyelids. He had not meant it as an insult or even sarcasm but that was how it had sounded. He knew James was having trouble adjusting to life away from the sea; he only wished he could understand it better. Did he truly miss being a pirate? Was it his position as captain he missed more? His men? *A* man? Thomas knew that the sea had been a part of James’s life since he was an adolescent. It was just one more item on the long list of things they needed to discuss with one another.

\-------- 

James spent the next few weeks settling into a routine far more orderly than any aboard the Walrus.

The house they inhabited was a farmhouse, an abandoned gift from one of the interior farmers who had decided to leave once the situation between redcoat and raider had become tense and unstable those months before. In addition to building up a substantial amount of kindle James repaired sections of a leaky roof, tilled enough soil for a small garden (about the size of Miranda’s), and worked on his skills at skinning and cleaning meat, namely goats and chickens.

All of it kept him busy. There were days when it became overwhelming to accomplish certain tasks single handedly, and Thomas wanted to help. James let him here and there, but by and large he wanted to be left alone.

Even so, that didn’t stop him from holding Thomas’s gaze too long each time the other man inquired if he could be of any service. James despaired over him. There was a gulf split wide between them neither of them had created but somehow was their fault just the same.

\-------- 

He’d gotten into the habit of stopping for rest during midday, just as he would if he and the crew were on a voyage or careening. He always went to draw up well water both for drinking and to wash the sweat away. One day he found two buckets waiting for him, already full of cold well water, as well as a wooden ladle in one for drinking. He looked for Thomas but Thomas was already gone so he’d stripped off his shirt and poured one bucket over him, then drank from the other. The cool water was always refreshing, even on the hottest days.

When he looked up to the window of the house Thomas was on the other side, watching him. His blue eyes had not been on James’s face, however, and they flicked up and Thomas smiled wanly at him before disappearing. James felt his heart beat faster, struggling to recollect that look of wantonness over his partner’s face.

\-------

Thomas watched the large bird of prey with interest. It was most certainly a hawk of some sort. As a city dweller he’d seen so few of them back home—no, back in *London*, he corrected himself—that to see a live one sitting relatively close was intriguing.

The bird was dark brown with a white underside and intense yellow eyes. It had caught a fish and was eating it on the limb of a dead tree. Thomas watched as it gripped its meal in impressive talons, ripping at the flesh with an equally impressive hooked beak of solid silver coloring. As focused as it appeared on eating Thomas also saw it was acutely aware of its surroundings, constantly looking around. Thomas felt himself smile. He startled when James came around the corner of the farmhouse shed. He opened his mouth but Thomas put a finger to his lip and pointed at the hawk. James followed the motion, then wordlessly sat down on the grass beside him, knees crooked and arms resting loosely over them.

“It’s a fish hawk, or sea hawk,” James spoke quietly. “They eat nothing but fish. They stay here for part of the year, then fly further north to breed. They can fly out far over the ocean in search of fish before returning to land.”

Thomas’s attention shifted away from the hawk to James, but James’s jade eyes remained on the bird as he spoke. He somehow looked peaceful to Thomas, and Thomas found himself smiling again, not sure where his brightened mood was coming from but more than glad to bask in it.

“I’m impressed,” he dared after James had fallen silent. He waited until the freckled and ginger face turned to look at him.

“I never pegged you for close observation of nature out here,” he continued. “Thinking of you out on the ocean…I suppose I always thought of the ocean as redundant in a way, with only the occasional dolphin for natural entertainment.”

“You forget,” said James, “Mariners must use nature to navigate. The sun and stars, the changing weather. Even the air can sometimes give a clue as to what mother nature is going to do.”

James fidgeted with the grass, plucking up a blade and twisting it as he spoke, looking distracted enough to allow Thomas to watch him comfortably for the first time since their arrival here.

“If you’re near land and all the birds fall silent, a rough storm is approaching,” James continued, staring at the blade of grass as though it contained the words he was speaking. “And of course there’s the whalers, who must watch the water for a blow to know their prey is near.”

Thomas studied the profile of his face. The distinctive lines that had always been etched around his mouth were deeper than they used to be, as were the ones that crinkled around the corner of his eyes. His beard carried a single streak of much paler hair on his right side. Thomas studied that, too.

“As for fish hawks,” said James, dropping the grass and looking back up to where the creature had finished its meal and was now stretching out its tail feathers and preening slightly, “When there are several around an unknown group of islands this time of year, we know there’s a good supply of fish in the area.”

There was a flapping of wings and Thomas turned to see the hawk take off from the dead tree, tucking its mighty talons under it and swiftly flying away. He watched it until it was a tiny spot in the distance.

He blinked in surprise when he turned back to James. James had laid his head against the side of the barn and had his eyes closed, legs stretched out before him. Thomas let out a long sigh and did the same, but he was unable to keep his eyes closed because they kept drifting to James.

\--------

Thomas watches him from the window.

He had filled up the buckets with well water the other day before noontime, and like clockwork James had stopped for the hour to rest. James always took his shirt off to wash. Sometimes he worked with it tied loosely around his neck and hanging off his back to keep the sun at bay. That was how Thomas was able to study James’s body that he otherwise never saw.

James had always been a barrel-chested and built man, but now he had many more muscles chiseled into his physique. Thomas could only imagine what hard labor he’d done over the years as a pirate to earn that body.

In fact, as Thomas once again gazed at James by the well, he felt the tentative but definite stirrings low in his gut. It worsened slightly when James was dripping wet and Thomas found himself imaging what the rest of James was like now…

No. It was far too soon for any of that. And besides, he worried that James would be as wounded on the outside as much as he was on the inside. Thomas pictured inevitable scars over that skin, marring the beautiful flesh and making Thomas wince. He abruptly turned away from the window.

\--------


	2. Chapter 2

“There he is, the damn land lubber.”

James scowled, but it ended up as a grin as John Silver met him from the beach at the edge of town, arms thrown out wide, his shit-grin still visible even under the black mass of moustache and beard.

James met him with a firm handshake, feeling his spirits lift. John thumped him lightly on the back.

“It’s good to see you,” said James. He jerked his head toward town. “Come on.”

 

They went to the tavern and each ordered a drink. The barkeep had insisted it was on the house when he recognized John. James had wanted to smile darkly at the flash of fear that was behind the portly man’s eyes. Fear and respect, he knew. John had garnered both from most of New Providence Island, with some help from Billy.

Now, he paid the keep some coin anyway and accepted his drink with a smile. James couldn’t ignore the fact that the barkeep had largely ignored him. More and more people were forgetting his name and speaking of Silver’s.

He still didn’t know if he was angry or relieved, though he was trying hard to feel the latter.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. James pretended to be studying the room around them instead of studying the Walrus’s new captain. It didn’t fool John.

“You can just ask, you know,” John said into his mug, icy eyes staring at him with a small amount of amusement.

“You shit,” James muttered on purpose. John kept the mug over lips a moment longer before lowering it.

“I see your captaincy isn’t affecting your appetite in the least,” James said, eyes going to John’s stomach. John put a palm over it.

“You think I’ve…gained weight?” he asked. James smiled smugly at the uncertainty coating his voice. John frowned at him.

“Fuck you.”

“Seriously though,” said James, “You look well enough.”

John shrugged, taking another drink.

“And you? You look…well you look the fucking same. Perhaps a bit…troubled. If you ever need a hand with anything out there I can send some of the men….”

James waved the idea away. “No. I’m managing fine with all that.”

“What is it, then?”

“Nothing. Thomas and I are quite blissful. Isn’t it obvious?”

He regretted the bitterness with which he’d spoke but it was too late to cover it up. He dragged his eyes up to his old quartermaster. John regarded him a full minute before speaking.

“Unless the farm life has completely warped you already,” John began, “I’m guessing that, of the two of you, you are the one more reluctant to speak to him, and that he has made more attempts at it than you have, and that you have answered his attempts with either bitter sarcasm or melancholy.”

“No,” James snapped. “I’m not sarcastic with him.”

He didn’t know why but that particular assumption stung him. Perhaps he was short with Thomas at times, perhaps even openly bitter, but he’d never said hurtful things to him—not with the kind of anger that John knew he was capable of showing.

Still, John’s list was mostly right.

John grinned without mirth.

“But the rest of it?” he pressed.

James didn’t answer. He leaned back in his chair and stared at his mug.

“Listen to me, James,” said John.

He leaned forward over the table and James was unable to break away from the deep blue eyes that could always penetrate his own. He sat up again, almost reluctantly.

“I may not know Thomas very well, but I know you. If you’re as stubborn and determined at loving him as you are with everything else, you’ll not have a problem.”

“*Captain Flint* was stubborn and determined, and he could never stop,” James said with quiet intensity. “I’m working hard not to bring those qualities into our home.”

“But Captain Flint is a *part* of you,” John said patiently, “Whether you like it or not. And you may have to accept that finding yourself again includes making peace with that knowledge.”

James’s eyes swept over his old quartermaster. He shuddered involuntarily.

“God, what have I created with you?” he whispered.

John blinked slowly. His leather jacket creaked as he shifted in his chair.

“I don’t know. Captain Silver? Long John Silver? I’m still trying to figure it out myself.”

“And how is that going?” asked James quickly, seeing an opportunity open up.

Again, the subtle look of uncertainly flashed across the younger man’s face, and James relaxed somewhat.

“I’m having difficulty with proper navigation, for starters,” he said. “I want to know it well, but certain aspects of it are…difficult to grasp, and no one on board has the knowledge of it as you do.”

James nodded. He knew from the moment Billy had told him John wanted a “visit” that he needed help. James had offered it to him freely but at the time the new captain had shrugged it off with a joke, never wanting to appear needy. And for his part, James had casually agreed to the visit, not wanting to appear needy either, though here was something, at least, to get his mind off the troubles at home.

“What else?” he asked, hiding a smile.

 

He’d been away most of the afternoon and early evening, off with John again on the beach, going over navigation techniques and how to melt the chocolate the men had seized on their latest prize to drink. He’d come home to find the living room darkened and a cold plate of food on the table. He called out for Thomas and found him in the bedroom, sitting on the floor and staring at the portrait he’d propped up against the dresser. It was the same painting of himself and Miranda that Miranda had taken and had kept in their home. James’s chest tightened.

Thomas had been drinking. The bottle sat next to him. His face was stony but his eyes were red.

“I think you should have left this at the old house,” he said. “I tried finding a place to hang it, but it didn’t look good anywhere. So I just sat it there.”

James dug his fingers into the door frame, jaw clenched, as he resisted the urge to pick Thomas up and hug him and hold him and tell him they would get through this. The lump rose in his throat. His feet propelled him into the room.

He picked up the portrait and slid it back behind the dresser, fingers lingering over its gold frame.

 

Thomas woke up with an erection.

It wasn’t the first time. Ever since he’d started watching James use the well water at noontime. He knew he’d been dreaming, but as usual the dream was vague when he woke and faded quickly, though not quickly enough for him to forget the intimate nature of the dream.

He rose from bed and left the room, slipping into the guest room down the hall. He was already breathing heavy and when he pushed down his breeches. God, he was rock solid. He pulled at himself until he came, stifling the sound and leaning against the wall afterward until his breathing slowed. It was always after that the incessant and terrible longing overcame him, and he stayed in the room until he was tired again and could crawl back beside James without disturbing him.

 

They had been in town when it happened. Thomas was craving social interaction and a chance to browse through various goods in the marketplace. James understood his desire to get away from the farmhouse, though it was still difficult for him to reconcile Nassau Town and Thomas as two things that blended. Yet Thomas was fascinated by the people and life around him and James was pleased.

They had ducked underneath the wooden roof of the tavern for a bite to eat. James had stepped out to go to the privy. He’d heard the ruckus of loud, already drunk men coming out of what had to be the brothel house. It was the middle of the afternoon so he knew they had to be pirates. Probably part of Tew’s crew from the sounds of it.

He’d come out of the privy and saw the same men idling around the front of the tavern. Thomas was no longer seated at the table. James pushed his way through the drunken crowd, noting that most of them seemed to recognize him and grew quiet as he passed them. He heard voices around the corner.

“Thomas?”

Thomas’s voice, mingling with another, became clearer as he drew near. James rounded the corner and saw Thomas, backed up against the wall with a pirate leering over him.

“…I’m just sayin’ you look like the type, darling,” said the pirate. He was Thomas’s height but stronger, with a posture that was both meant to seduce and intimidate at the same time. James took it all in and surged forward.

*

Thomas had not even seen James appear. Within seconds the brute of a man before him was yanked away from him, eyes wide, and James was somehow on top of him on the floor, hands clutched around the man’s throat. Thomas felt paralyzed. He looked around them but no one was on this side of the tavern. The railing and some large palm fronds blocked the view from the street. The man writhed underneath James, who was Rage Incarnate to Thomas at that moment. His face was pure fury, temples pulsing as he spat down at the man.

“What the fuck were you doing, you fucking asshole?” James snapped. The man’s face was turning from deep red to slight purple. Thomas watched, not certain if he was more petrified of watching the man die or of James.

“James,” he finally managed, throat like sandpiper. Then louder, “James!”

James glanced up at him, then back down. Slowly his fingers peeled themselves away from the man’s throat. The man coughed uncontrollably, rolling over on his side when James let him.

“You know who I am?” James asked, looking as though he could breathe fire.

The man nodded, wide eyes flashing up to him as his face turned back to red and then normal.

“Then you’ll see to it not to forget me,” said James. “And that your friends don’t either.”

The man nodded furiously again, struggling to his feet and stumbling away, giving Thomas a wide berth as he did so.

Thomas dragged his eyes from the fleeing pirate back to James. James looked at him and Thomas watched as the dragon slowly faded, jade eyes cooling but not entirely. James gently took his arm and looked him in the eyes.

“Are you all right?”

Thomas nodded, swallowing.

“I, um, I was actually prepared to defend myself,” he stammered, pulling a knife from his belt and showing it to James. James looked at it and the leather sheath it came from. A wisp of a smile appeared under his beard.

“You were truly going to stab him?”

Thomas nodded.

“Yes. I had easy access to it. It was just occurring to me that I might need to use it when you…appeared. Christ Almighty, James.”

Looking nonchalant, James nodded to the front of the tavern.

“Come on. It’s time we got back.”

They rode home in relative silence. Thomas could still feel the echoes of fury radiating off James. The more he thought on it and replayed the incident in his mind, the more shocked he was at himself. The look on James’s face, ready to kill for him, how James had used his power to pin the man down. And then those beautiful green eyes on him and only him—‘Are you all right?’

A shiver ran through Thomas that was anything but chilled.

 

James rolled over for the fifth or sixth time that night. Sleep refused to greet him tonight. He wasn’t sure why; there was nothing in particular he was thinking about tonight, or at least nothing different than any other night. Those things were Thomas, Thomas, and Thomas. He should find John again tomorrow, perhaps even take a trip out to open water with him and get his mind off things.

Thomas stirred beside him and let out a sigh. Sensing he was awake, James turned his head. In the bluish dark he could make out the moonlight catching in Thomas’s eyes as he stared up at the ceiling. His hand wondered down to touch his breeches. James heard a barely audible ‘shit’ escape him, and he knew what the problem was.

He watched as Thomas’s eyes searched the ceiling for a moment, then he pushed himself up to get out of bed.

Without thinking James’s hand shot out and gripped Thomas’s wrist as he sat up. Thomas startled.

“Stay,” James said softly. He struggled to meet Thomas’s eyes in the darkness. Thomas seemed to freeze and James rubbed his thumb over the back of Thomas’s hand, loosening his grip and hoping the gesture worked.

“I’m fine. I just need to relieve myself,” said Thomas.

“Stay,” said James again, not even bothering to argue the lie.

Thomas sighed and tried to pull away.

“James, if you’ll please just let me go—”

James scooted and reached over with his other hand to feel the hardened organ in Thomas’s breeches. He heard Thomas’s breath stutter, could only imagine the blush on his face and he loathed the very idea of it.

He scooted and leaned on an elbow to unfasten Thomas’s breeches. Thomas finally stopped resisting and instead leaned back on the headboard. James didn’t look at him but focused on his task. His fingers found their mark and he pulled out Thomas’s cock, his own cock stirring to life at the feel of this body part so long neglected on his lover.

He worked Thomas until they were both panting and hot. Then Thomas’s breath grew more and more erratic, until he stifled a keening sound and spilled over into James’s fist. James massaged his cock gently through it, until Thomas was spent.

James rose off the bed before Thomas could and got him a wet cloth to clean up with. Then Thomas let out a long sigh and finally turned to look at him.

James’s own erection throbbed as Thomas’s eyes met his, still half lidded. He looked as peaceful as James had seen him since their reunion. Thomas looked down pointedly at James’s own breeches.

“Let me—”

“No,” said James. “It’s not necessary.”

He forced out a smile before rolling over and sinking back down into the bed. His cock ached and his heart burned, but he wiped at his eyes and closed them, eventually drifting off into a fitful sleep.

 

Thomas spent most of his time in town and James spent his time with John Silver. Thomas was fine with that arrangement. Things were a little better, though not by much. The farmhouse was coming along. Thomas busied himself with learning the names and growing habits of various vegetables and herbs and how to cook with them while James would sit rabbit snares and worked on stocking up on a healthy supply of horse and chicken feed.

When they weren’t away on their separate outings or tending to things at home, Thomas felt the air was always heavy between them. A quiet night at the house seemed peaceful enough; they would usually both end up with a book in their hands. But it was too quiet to Thomas, like being stuck at the bottom of a deep hole he was constantly trying to claw his way out of or the calm that descends both before and after a raging storm and leaves the air thick and heavy.

 

“I was thinking of going out to sea on the ship again,” James said one such evening.

Thomas looked up from his copy of Homer’s Iliad on the couch across from him.

“Oh?”

“I wouldn’t be on the account,” he added quickly. “Just a short trip off the coast for a couple of days. Just to clear my head.”

The defensiveness that crept into his voice irritated Thomas, but before he even knew the source of it he replied brusquely, “You don’t need my permission to go.”

“I wasn’t asking for it.”

“Fine then. I’m told the salt air is good for that. Though there’s plenty of it in the air here. We’re only a few miles from the beach.”

He’d said it as calmly as he could. Still, James huffed out a sigh and closed his book with an audible flapping sound. Thomas tried again.

“You probably miss it, yes? I’m sure you do.”

James’s eyes flitted around the room and settled on the book in his lap. His expression was unreadable.

“Sometimes I think I do,” he replied. “Sometimes I don’t. The sea can be unforgiving.”

Thomas knew there was more to that sentiment but James fell silent, leaving it unsaid and confounding him yet again. The question Thomas had been struggling with for several days rose to the front of his thoughts again. He carefully closed up Homer and his adventures and twisted on the couch to face the other man.

“Yes, I imagine it can be unforgiving,” he started. “And also alluring. Alluring to men who seek a means of travel, of escape, of a certain…privacy not afforded in towns and cities. Privacy among other men, especially.”

James turned towards him, one brow raised in inquiry.

“I know it’s been a long time for us,” Thomas said, once again feeling as though his words were needles that might prick too deep if he weren’t careful. “I only wonder if there have been times over these last ten years for you, that you’ve sought out companionship other than Miranda’s…”

“What?”

James grew stiff. His eyes were stormy, which Thomas knew signaled conflicting emotions warring with one another in him.

“You want to know if I was with other men?” he asked. Despite the fierce spark that flashed in his eyes James’s voice was dead flat. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, pretending he’d found a way out of the hole and through the storm.

“I’m sorry. But I cannot help but to think on it. You have to understand…”

James rose abruptly from the couch, rubbing his fingers together and looking away from him.

“…I’ve been locked away from everything and everyone for so long,” Thomas said without quite meaning to. His emotions were getting the better of him, especially the long-simmering and persistent need to know this one, singular thing that suddenly meant so much to him.

“You’ve been free. Maybe not in all ways,” he added quickly when James shot him a look, “But you know what I’m trying to say. And I spent so much time wondering not only what you were doing but whom you might be wi—”

“Thomas, please,” James said in a whisper, voice close to begging and startling Thomas.

“It hardly matters,” he said louder, turning partially so Thomas could see his profile. “It was nothing more than desperation taking over, it did not mean anything—”

The shame in his voice cut into Thomas’s gut like a razor. How he loathed that sound. He stood and quickly put a hand over James’s shoulder.

“It’s all right. James, it’s all right,” he repeated when James sucked in a wet breath and Thomas feared his shame might swallow him whole.

“It’s only normal. I would only be upset if you had never tried at all,” he said. “It has been ten years, James, it’s all right.”

Relief he hadn’t anticipated flooded through him, mingled sharply with new pain. He blinked furiously through watery eyes, staring down at the patterned carpet beneath his feet. He felt the cushion sink in right beside him. James’s hand cupped the side of his face and gently pulled so that Thomas looked up at him.

“I’m sorry,” said James, stormy eyes now just sad. “I tried for so long to stay true to you and to her, but I was weak. I—”

Thomas shook his head, reaching out and clasping the collar of his shirt and pulling him close.

“No. Don’t ever be sorry for that, ever. You thought I was dead. You were only trying to move on. I didn’t…I didn’t even have that opportunity.”

Thomas tried to force out a smile. They had danced this number before, on the Walrus before Thomas had arrived on the island. Bethlam Royal Hospital was like a gaping wound. No matter how he tried to tend it, it just kept opening up again, one long, unending horror he never wanted to experience again, even in words.

This time, however, he didn’t push James away, and James didn’t walk away. Instead he pressed his thigh into Thomas’s so that their foreheads could touch. James rubbed a thumb over his cheek, brushing under his eye and wiping away the tears there.


	3. Chapter 3

He stayed up late one night, pretending to be engrossed in the middle of _The Iliad_ after James had gone to bed. The truth was he had read this particular part of the book enough times to have it memorized. He skimmed it, read it here and there, for another thirty minutes after James had retired for the evening.

Then Thomas left the book on the writing table against the wall and lit a single candle, securing it in a holder and taking it to the bedroom. He closed the door gently behind him and sat the candle down on the small end table by his side of the bed. On the other side James was letting his candle burn down as he usually did. The two small flames of light cast the room in a soft yellow-orange glow, casting flickering shadows off the walls.

Thomas sat down on the bed. He removed his shirt and trousers and slipped into his breeches. He glanced over his shoulder. James had his back to him but Thomas knew he was still awake.

“You said the sea could be unforgiving,” Thomas said quietly. “I thought about all the possible meanings that cryptic statement might have. And I found myself wondering, Was the sea more unforgiving to James McGraw, or to Captain Flint? I realized then you were speaking about the things you’ve done since becoming Flint.”

He heard the shuffling sound of the other body turning, rolling over. He felt James’s eyes on him.

“I don’t care if you did things because you had to, because you wanted to, or even felt compelled to do. None of that matters to me, not anymore, if it ever did. It’s almost funny, really,” he said with a mirthless smile to himself. “If I had known you were a pirate during my stay in Bethlam, I would have had so much more time to process it, to imagine what horrid acts you might be committing, the man you had become.”

The bed creaked behind him.

“Thomas…”

“But instead,” said Thomas, cutting him off, “I find out only a scant two months ago, and without even really trying I’ve already made peace with it. Isn’t that funny?”

Silence. Thomas stared hard at the charcoal shadow of himself against the flickering orange wall. Everything ached tonight, both good and bad. There were moments, like now, when everything came crashing down around him all at once and his mind wasn’t able to process any of the last ten years, or the past year. He choked back tears and said, “God, has any man ever been loved so much by another?”

He closed his eyes and they stung. Behind him he heard James breathing; he made a barely audible, desperate little sound.

Thomas knew the answer to his question was a definite ‘no.’ James’s depths shocked and exhilarated him. He swung both legs into the bed to turn fully and look at his partner. James’s eyes were like two liquid gemstones, glistening at him, his brows pulled back and his face raw and open at last. Thomas felt weak and aroused all over.

James parted his lips but he only drew in a breath. Thomas quickly moved to him, unable to keep himself at bay any longer. He planted his lips over James’s in a long and slow and deep kiss, feeling the tears slip down James’s cheeks under his thumbs. He kissed them away, tasting salt.

“I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” James choked out, attempting a laugh. Thomas grinned at him and kissed his forehead.

“Never.”

They shed their clothes and Thomas quickly took over, laying James out on his back and plying kisses along his shoulders and pectoral muscles, down his stomach and along his hips and thighs. All those places he’d missed dearly; long deprived of his touch. As it turned out James did not have a plethora of scars on his body, just a few here and there that could do little to mar the beautiful and bold clusters of freckles Thomas had fallen in love with. He made sure to kiss those too.

When they were both sufficiently aroused Thomas sucked his fingers to open James up. James laid a hand over his own before Thomas could reach him.

“Are you certain?” he asked, jade eyes penetrating into Thomas’s own, quite serious despite his obvious lust.

Thomas stopped to consider. He was fucking nervous, no doubt about that. But he slowly nodded.

“Yes. I need you,” he said plainly and matter-of-factly.

James seemed to relax, sinking further into the bed. A tiny smile twitched at his mouth and he nodded.

Thomas opened him up and pushed his bent legs up and out further. He draped himself over James, bending in for more kisses before pushing himself inside. He felt James’s breath hot over his mouth as Thomas entered him.

Thomas didn’t need to rush or even to try hard. Just the sensation of feeling James wrapped around him was enough to send pulses of pleasure swimming through his body and heat in his gut. James surrendered completely to him. They fell into a steady rhythm, with only the sounds of their joint breathing and skin hitting against skin to fill their ears.

James let his hands roam everywhere he could touch Thomas, making Thomas grow even hotter inside and out. Thomas felt the energy pooling at the base of his cock. James was just as ready. He had spread his arms up beside his head, fisting the sheets, not even attempting to touch himself but instead in pure bliss over their coupling alone. Thomas watched him, aroused at the mere sight of James McGraw emerging from the skin of Captain Flint, reborn in this moment.

Thomas took hold of James’s cock and worked it at the same pace as he fucked him, until James’s body was writhing underneath him, trying to push into him. James came, keening and crying out. Thomas worked him through it, finally losing his control and bucking hard into James until he hit his own climax. He pushed himself as far into James as he could and James wrapped his legs around him and held him tight, whispering almost nonsensically into his ear. James kissed his jawline and squeezed his rump as Thomas grunted out his orgasm.

When Thomas moved to pull out James kept his legs clamped over his buttocks.

“Not yet,” he panted out. “Don’t stop touching me. Never stop touching me.”

It was like a command, but whispered so desperately it was heart wrenching; like something within James finally shattered into a thousand pieces. It made Thomas want to weep. He rocked back on his elbows and looked down at him.

“Never,” he said, brushing his hands through James’s hair.

*

Things between them changed after that night. It wasn’t immediate but rather it crept up into Thomas’s consciousness like far-off rolling thunder that suddenly becomes close overhead.

Everything was better after that night. Not quite where Thomas would have liked them to be, but closer than before. The physical barrier was easier to break than the mental one, he should have known. James was more at ease around him and less broody, but there were moments. Distinct moments when all else was quiet and he would catch James looking at him with a profound intensity he couldn’t place, green-gray eyes filled with unspoken sentiment that Thomas wanted to inquire about but knew better. Then, the next time he’d told James he was going into town but without an escort in the form of Jack Rackham, James insisted on tagging along. That was when Thomas understood the change.

When they were around the usual townspeople James was fine, but Thomas noticed whenever they brushed up near a place of more questionable repute, James pressed in close beside him, close enough that it was unmistakable he was Thomas’s companion. Thomas noted the same reaction whenever they passed other pirates.

And when they passed by the same tavern he’d been threatened in.

Once, they had been out late, close to sunset. Thomas saw that a new crowd of people came out during this time of day; decent women and their children grew scarce while more and more men sprawled out over the streets. Thomas had been shocked at how many had been pirates. It made the stories he’d heard back in England about areas overrun with them less fantastical and more realistic. Two such men had been outside the blacksmith’s shop while he waited for James to finish paying for tools. The men had caught Thomas’s gaze and had begun to leer at him. He’d felt chills go over his arms, fingers discreetly reaching for the knife buried in his belt, when James had emerged. As soon as he spotted the men his face hardened and he’d sneered at them, standing beside Thomas without looking at him, eyes like two balls of fury fixated on the men. They had quickly dropped their game and left.

And that was when the phrase had first formed in Thomas’s mind, of exactly what must have been running through James’s head: ‘He’s mine.’

It thrilled him in some dark way that made Thomas inwardly squirm. It wasn’t exactly new for James; back in London James hadn’t bothered to hide his jealousy. He’d been as blunt about it to Thomas as with everything else. No, it was the fact that *this* James was more than willing to use more than words to defend Thomas’s honor. And Thomas had looked at him in that moment, realizing that any offense deemed great enough against James Flint meant that blood would soon follow.

*

“No, you cad, the north star is _there_ ” James pressed, jabbing a finger towards the night sky.

John yanked the yellowed paper from his hands and turned it around.

“Which I would have seen if the damn map was right-side up,” he retorted.

“I think you just don’t want to admit the obvious,” said James.

“Oh? And what exactly is that?”

“That your eyesight is poor when used to see faraway.”

John scoffed.

“Oh please. I’ve seen you squinting with that eyeglass countless times in broad daylight.”

“Everyone squints through an eyeglass.”

“I don’t. And neither does Billy or DeGroot,” said Silver smoothly.

James frowned at him, looking at him through his brows. John relented.

“Well, DeGroot does I suppose. He *is* older than fucking dirt.”

James laughed.

“He was little older than I am now when I first met him,” said James. He sat down on the flat grass at the top of the hill they had stood on for the last hour, with James trying to aid in John’s navigational skills. John clamped a hand over James’s shoulder and lowered himself down, stretching out his iron leg first. He completed the motion without a hitch.

“You move better now,” James quipped, watching him.

“You were right about that, at least,” said John with a wry smile that slowly dissolved. “It does get easier. It just took a hell of a long time.”

“Some men never walk as well as you do with the boot. You’re young though. It’s easier.”

John breathed in through his mouth and exhaled, settling into the grass.

“I don’t always feel so young anymore,” he said. James thought he sounded tired. His brows furrowed.

“Why not?”

John kept his gaze fixed out over the horizon. The sky was clear and the stars were brilliant pinpricks of light, but the moon was new and so the ocean was little more than a hushed roar in the distance, though its breeze still was strong enough to blow through John’s long dark curls.

“Captaining a crew like this, a pirate crew and in a time of war, it’s not what I expected,” he replied at length. “I thought after so long by your side I was ready for anything that came my way. To expect the unexpected.”

In the silence that followed James prodded him gently. “And?”

“And…that’s a fucking contradiction of terms, my friend.”

James let out a throaty chuckle.

“Yes, I suppose it is. You’ll always have doubts. Doubts about everything some days. But just remember the men and how you want to be perceived. Keep everything else…locked away.”

He felt more than saw John turn to him then, felt the curiosity in his eyes.

“Now I’ve said something I shouldn’t have,” said James, “Something that’s aroused Mr. Silver’s insatiable need for knowledge.”

John snorted, breaking whatever tiny delicate thread that was between them just then.

“You say that as if I’m some damned scholar or philosopher. My need for knowledge is only insatiable regarding one particular thing, as it always has been.”

James met his gaze then and the invisible thread returned. John’s face was impossibly somber and James saw for the first time the lines of age there, new and faint but visible even in the darkness. How much the man had grown in every way possible during the short time they’d known one another.

Perhaps…

“Perhaps in a different time and place,” replied James at length, “We could have known each other differently.”

“You always leave me hanging, to find out everything about you on my own,” said John dully but with a lop-sided grin.

“That’s not true,” said James softly.

John sobered instantly. “No. It’s not. When you first told me about Thomas, I scarcely knew what to say.”

“I remember.”

“I spent weeks processing, digesting that information. You were worried I’d somehow use it against you one day.”

Now it was James who snorted. “I still do.”

John didn’t reply, letting his words fall away into the wind that wrapped gently around them on the hilltop. It carried a slight chill with it now, and James knew he should be getting back. He climbed to his feet and helped John do the same. Once John was up he didn’t let go of James’s hand. John’s palm was cool but rapidly warming against his own. His eyes bore into James’s, words coming out as little more than a whisper, “I’m here for you, if you need me.”

Their sound made James cut off a hum in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard.

“John, it’s been over a year. Don’t do this.”

Too late. John moved in and pressed his lips against James’s. James made to pull away but already John’s hand was wrapping around the back of his head, fingers carding through his hair and forcing his lips to stay against his own.

James opened his mouth despite himself and let John in. John kissed him long and deep and slow, until James felt his knees grow weak and he planted his hands against John’s chest and pushed him away, his breathing labored. John’s chest moved up and down against his palms. He could feel his heart beat, strong and just shy of wild. He groaned and clenched his teeth in sudden anger.

“Fuck, John…”

“I know, I’m sorry,” said John quickly, stepping back so that James’s hands fell uselessly to his sides.

“I’m sorry,” John panted out again. “I just missed it. Missed you.”

James looked up at him, struggling to appear resolute. He was with Thomas now. He loved Thomas, always had. Always would. And John was the only other living soul who knew it.

*

 

Thomas drove the shovel in the ground again, dislodging the weeds and grass there and making space for the carrots he wished to plant soon. He’d dug out almost half of the chosen area, his pile of unwanted vegetation growing high.

There was something very rhythmic about the work that lulled him into a kind of focused trance; digging into the dirt and changing it, re-assimilating it so that more productive things could grow instead. Even in the growing heat of early afternoon, he’d kept up a steady pace at it, all the while James worked in the back of the house, repairing chicken wire some stray dogs had torn and other odds and ends that needed fixing.

Thomas’s mind wondered to lunchtime and what they might eat when he heard hoofbeats rapidly approaching from down the dirt path that led to their property. The land that stretched out in front of the farmhouse was wide and flat, easy to see approaching visitors from. It was something that he had immediately liked about the place when James had first shown it to him. Even after all this time out of Bethlam he still hated confined and closed-in spaces. The ability to see out in all directions here made him feel safer.

He stopped shoveling and waited as the horse appeared around the curve of the path, a dark brown beauty carrying Mr. John Silver on its back. Thomas pulled a rag from his waist and wiped the sweat off his face and approached Silver.

“I see James has you doing the woman’s work,” he quipped wryly as he halted the horse and looked down at him.

It had been some time since Thomas had last seen or spoken to Silver; perhaps nearly four months, yet his greeting was at once familiar and friendly, as though they’d seen each other only yesterday.

“Truth be told, I’m afraid I actually enjoy it,” replied Thomas. He gave Silver a little smile. Silver nodded down at his leg, the half one with the boot that was setting loosely in the stirrup pad.

“Do you mind?” he asked.

Thomas notice an extra strip of soft leather lay between the boot and the horse’s side. It looked to serve as padding for the horse against the hardness of the iron leg.

Thomas slid the boot out of the stirrup, letting Silver dismount.

“Christ it’s warm out here,” he mused, immediately peeling off his heavy coat and rolling up his sleeves.

“The ocean breeze is but a tiny whisper out here,” said Thomas. “It takes getting used to.”

John gave him a peculiar look, to which Thomas added, “So James tells me, anyway. I never was much for sailing.”

“As I recall,” said John, following him to the bench in front of the pond. “You got seasick as soon as we hit those swells, not even thirty miles out.”

Thomas heard the bait to the words. He smiled.

“Yes, but I also recall how you flubbed up the orders to lower the t’gallants and decrease sail the following week and informed Billy not to tell the captain.”

“I had a cold,” John replied with mock defensiveness. “I wasn’t entirely clear-headed at the time.”

“Of course,” said Thomas, throwing his bantering tone right back at him. But then John looked away pointedly, towards the house behind them.

“Is he around?”

“Out back somewhere, repairing chicken wire. Unless he’s finished. It’s nearly lunchtime, can I invite you in for something to eat?”

“Ah no, thank you. I just needed to run something by him. Won’t take long.”

Thomas noted the vagueness of the statement, made more noticeable to him in lieu of the light and open conversation they were just having. There was a tightness to Silver now, an impatience even. Dimly Thomas could remember the same attitude a few times on board the Walrus, usually when James’s name came up.

“Certainly,” said Thomas when he realized he’d not yet given John permission onto the property. He stood from the bench and gestured toward the back of the house. John hesitated after a single step. He licked his lips and turned back to Thomas.

“Can I ask you something in confidence?”

His face was carefully blank. Thomas nodded.

“Of course,” he said.

“He’s…is he contented here?” asked John. “In general, I mean. When the two of us are together he seems to avoid any conversation that might lead to me asking about his welfare here, with you. I’m curious.”

Thomas blinked. Normally, such an inquiry wouldn’t seem remotely out of the ordinary, but then again John Silver was quite aware not only of his and James’s current relationship but of their past as well. That, coupled with what he knew of Silver already, made the question seem anything but casual or ordinary.

There wasn’t time to analyze it, whatever it was, so Thomas stored it away for later and said carefully, “It’s been a long road for us, but I think he’s as content as he’s going to get.”

He watched John’s brow furrow ever so slightly, then he smiled thinly and nodded.

“That’s good to hear,” he said after a beat. Then he turned and continued his way up to the house. Thomas watched his uneven gait until he disappeared around the corner. A few moments later the two voices drifted to his ears, though they were too far away for him to understand them.

Instead of going in to prepare lunch Thomas sat down on the bench. Some clouds had rolled in overhead, blotting out the sun momentarily and allowing him to stare out at the pond without the sun’s blinding reflection. He tried to cast his thoughts elsewhere but his mind kept coming back to his question to James about his sexual encounters while he himself had been locked away.

He tried hard not to dwell on what James and Miranda’s relationship had become, and the idea that James could no longer even take comfort in her was unbearable to him, that perhaps he had used the brothels.

No. He didn’t believe that; something told him that had not been the case. No, if James had been with anyone it would have been while he was out to sea, away from prying ears and eyes.

John, then?

Before he could ponder it any longer James was yelling out to him from the front of the house. He turned to see Silver taking his leave. He gave Thomas a quick farewell, saying nothing of his conversation with James.


	4. Chapter 4

James watched Thomas, waiting for some tell on the blonde’s face at the news. Thomas swallowed his potatoes and took a drink of wine but all he did was give a small nod.

“Well I’m glad you’ve finally decided to accept some help in the matter. Repairing a leaking roof from that angle and in this clime will take some time. And I think the company will do you some good.”

James cocked his head, looking up from his plate.

“Oh? I wasn’t aware you thought I needed company,” he said.

Thomas fixed him with a crooked grin and shrugged.

“You know I’ve always frowned upon too much solitude. Even the most contented men end up finding the time to brood unnecessarily over things. That’s why I used to drag you to my salons.”

“No, you dragged me to your salons because you couldn’t keep your eyes off me,” James countered in a teasing voice.

Thomas coughed a little and took another drink from his glass. James chuckled, satisfied at how Thomas had taken the news of John aiding him in repairing the roof. James hadn’t made the suggestion, but when he’d mentioned to John the roof was damaged from a wind storm and that he would single-handedly fix it, John had scoffed at him, calling him out on what James had to admit was a poor idea.

“And what of his leg?” Thomas asked suddenly.

James’s hand stilled over his fork briefly before cutting into his meat.

“Well, other than needing help up a ladder he assures me it won’t be an impediment. I argued the point—”

“Of course you did,” Thomas slid in.

“—but he swore he wouldn’t need much help with it.”

“He does seem remarkably adept with that boot,” said Thomas. He wiped his mouth and stood, clearing his side of the table.

“I’m sure it must have been quite difficult for him, at first,” he continued from the kitchen. “I’ve known men who have lost limbs and never fully recovered, neither physically nor in the mind.”

James chewed his meat more slowly, measuring his response.

“He’s young. And he’s stubborn. Both those things worked for him, I suppose.”

“And you?” asked Thomas, glancing over to him from the kitchen. “Did you aid him in recovering? Being ship’s captain and whatnot,” he tacked on, as though the question required justification.

James sighed quietly.

“I did, yes. The first couple of weeks were the worst. He was in a great amount of pain, as you could imagine. But once the stump had healed enough for the boot, it became easier,” he finished.

Thomas made a ‘mmm’ sound in response. In the short silence that followed James felt as though he were expecting a follow-up statement, but James said nothing. Talking too much about Silver was a decidedly bag thing and he did not need thoughts of his old quartermaster on his mind tonight.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The next week passed by more or less cheerfully for Thomas, who found himself more than willing to have someone else besides James to converse with on the days when there was little house work or gardening to do and plenty of time on his hands.

Typically he enjoyed getting lost in a book, but in the tropical heat of the Bahamas he had found this made him rather sleepy. Now he used the time to throw together a quick lunch for James and John. John would often stop work first to eat, claiming that he rarely ate much in the way of breakfast and so had a voracious appetite by noon.

Thomas found that John Silver was charming. That hadn’t been his first impression of the man, who had seemed like just another hardened pirate during his first few days on the Walrus. But that time period had become increasingly surreal to Thomas and he didn’t like to dwell on it; he’d been suffering the aftershocks of discovering James alive as well as still feeling haunted by Bethlam. Everything and everyone had seemed like figments of his tired imagination.

The only reason John Silver had stood out from it all was when Thomas saw that he was close to James. By the time they’d reached New Providence Island Thomas was curious about John, curious to know the only other man whom James seemed to take a liking to aboard a ship full of a hundred-some other living beings.

Now, Thomas realized that John was *quite* charming, when given the opportunity to be. Though he wasn’t very knowledgeable with literary works Thomas found out he was well lettered and interested in several subjects, including the stars. He recanted to Thomas over lunch one day of how James had been teaching him navigation. 

“It’s best to look at them away from all sources of light,” John was telling him, taking another bite of bread and scraping it over his stew. “A small amount of light, such as moonlight, won’t hurt, but to see the smallest stars one needs complete darkness. Then it’s as though you’re in some other sea but without water. A sea of stars and starlight, just as vast and endless as the ocean herself, and with as many stories to tell.”

Thomas had stopped eating and was watching him, an index finger playing across his lips.

“I must admit, I’d never given the night sky much thought before…”

Thomas turned as James’s figure came into view and he made his way up on the porch where they sat.

“…And I must also admit I had no idea that James had amassed such knowledge about the stars,” he continued, eyes locking with his partner’s as James’s boots thudded up the stairs. He picked up the metal pitcher of water on the table and took a long drink from it while Thomas made disagreeable sounds and took it from him.

“There are things referred to as cups that are here,” he chided him, sitting the pitcher down and frowning fiercely.

James mostly ignored it. Both of them turned to John when a throaty chuckle escaped him. His deep blue eyes flicked from one of them to the other.

“Apologies, it’s just…well, I never imagined I’d see this,” he said. He looked up to James, expression coated as much with a teasing manner as it was with questions, or so Thomas thought. Either way Thomas sensed the bond that was between the two men, even though James snorted and rolled his eyes.

“It’s time we got back to work,” he said. “I want to at least finish repairing the corner before dusk.”

John’s gaze lingered on James a moment longer before the playfulness slipped into something more cordial. He smiled at Thomas and stood.

“Yes, well, thanks again for the food, Thomas.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Silver.”

“Please. Call me John,” said John as he brushed past James and off the porch.

“That little shit,” James muttered under his breath when John was out of earshot.

“What’s the matter,” Thomas asked him. “He’s being friendly. You should try it sometime,” he teased, nudging an elbow at James’s ribs.

James turned to him and fixed him with a warm frown that wasn’t really a frown at all.

“He’s overbearing and annoying. Always has been.”

“He’s quite charming,” Thomas dared to add. He looked at James but James was watching John round the corner to the back yard. James blinked and turned back to him. The infant theory that had been dancing around the edges of Thomas’s consciousness suddenly grew by leaps and bounds. It was an enthralling idea but also frightening and dangerous all at once, full of possibilities that were surrounded by clouded and unknown variables. Before the sense of déjà vu could completely overwhelm him James turned and gave him a light kiss on the corner of his mouth, snapping Thomas back into the present.

“I’ll see you this evening,” James said, and strode off the porch, following in John’s footsteps.

____________________________________________________________________________________

The repairs to the roof progressed as well as James as expected. They were forced to quit early one day when it started to rain and to cancel altogether their plans for the following two days when the rain didn’t let up. He and Thomas had been forced to place numerous buckets and bowls on the floor where the leak had originated; the downpour only made it worse so that all day long Thomas would periodically empty the containers as quickly as possible and then put them back again until the rain subsided.

Secretly James wasn’t overly upset. Working side by side with John for so many hours made him tense. Despite what he’d said to Thomas about the younger man being overbearing and annoying, John was anything but during their work sessions…a fact which bothered him. He almost longed for the days when John had been a thorn in his side, a vermin he had to deal with for a certain amount of time before they would go their separate ways.

That had been before they’d fucked.

Now, they chatted with too much ease, he thought. After the kiss on the hilltop James was forced to consider that John’s every move around him was a calculated one, intended to tempt him into giving into the same weakness that had claimed him on board the Walrus, half a year ago. Deep down he chastised himself for calling it a weakness. He knew better. Thomas had taught him that, to use his passions always as a source of strength.

But for Captain Flint expressions of desire were a weakness he could not afford, not after Miranda. And John, damn him, had worked at him relentlessly in the smallest of ways, pushing and gnawing at his resolve bit by tiny bit, until one day James realized he had no armor left. He’d let John in, *truly* let him in. The result had been a night of shared passion, of rough and gentle hands and lips and limbs, of slick bodies colliding and of raw and whispered sentiments exchanged. No, that was a lie. He had invited John in before all that. He’d done it the moment he’d spoken to him about Thomas. He’d done it, and he was acutely aware of doing it.

James cut off the train of thought before any of it could do more damage.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Once the rain had abated they worked twice as hard and didn’t quit work until nearly sunset the following day. James was tired but felt satisfied with what they’d accomplished. John had proven himself more than worthy of the physical toil despite his handicap. James had helped him to stand and shift positions on the slanted roof but once he was situated he had done quite well. Now as he finished putting up their tools in the shed he heard the faint but distinctive sounds of water being displaced from the front of the property. He frowned. Thomas had already retired for the evening and was probably in bed reading.

He picked up his pistol from just inside the house and crossed the yard. The source of the sound was in all likelihood a dog or raccoon, perhaps even a wild pig.

As he neared the bench in front of the pond he saw the disturbance was none of the above. Instead John was in the pond; pants, shirt and the boot all draped over the bench. He was swimming in the middle of the body of water, his body smooth and almost luminous in the dying light.

“Join me for a quick bath?” he offered.

James’s frown deepened.

“I could have shot you. Do you make a habit of bathing on the property of others without permission?”

That earned him a toothy smile, to which James looked away from.

“No, thank you,” James added. “I’m going to the well. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t drown yourself.”

Deciding that was an appropriate send-off, James turned and trekked back through the yard. He heard Silver’s reply of ‘the water’s warmer out here’ and chose it ignore it as well as the ‘come hither’ lilt to his voice.

James bathed in quiet solitude behind the house, glad to be rid of the day’s grime as he poured the buckets of water over his body and scrubbed. The well water was naturally cooler than the pond water but he didn’t mind. After the heat of the day it felt especially invigorating.

“I hear in some African cultures it’s considered rude to turn down an offer of shared bathing.”

James startled, eyes darting to where John was rounding the corner of the house. He had his long coat on, his good leg and his boot leg looking particularly bare without trousers. Clenching his teeth together, James turned around in an attempt to regain some modesty and kept scrubbing.

“Can I possible help you?” he drolled out.

There was no reply, only the faint padding sound of John’s bare feet on the grass. When James looked over his shoulder John was right behind him.

“What the hell is it?” James gruffed out, becoming agitated.

“Nothing is the matter,” said John. His voice was shockingly soft. “Look at me.”

It was the same voice John had used during their brief time together and it momentarily caught James by surprise. He twisted more of his body, dropping his rag into the bucket of water beside his feet and looking up.

“What, then?” he asked.

Without warning John slid around to his front side in one long stride. His hands fell away from the coat and he pushed against James so that he was pinned between the well and John’s body, now exposed as his coat hung open around him.

James clenched his jaw together, eyes flicking to look over John’s head because he found it suddenly impossible to meet those steel blue eyes that were suddenly too bright, too intense in the twilight.

“Back away, now, please,” said James.

“No.”

“Damnit, John, I mean it. We’ve been through this already.”

“We have.”

“We had our time, but then I found Thomas. I love Thomas.”

“I’ve never disputed that. But things have changed between *us* since then.”

James pushed past him and walked towards his clothes hanging over the fence. He jerked them off roughly and headed towards the house. John was right behind him. He made it to the back wall of the house before John’s hand clamped over his forearm. James spun around. He fixed the other man with what he hoped was a cruel face.

“Christ, what is wrong with you? Do you want me to be an asshole? To say painful, hurtful things to you to persuade you against this? Or maybe you just have a death wish after all.”

“Oh fuck you,” John said with a slight quiver in his lips. “Our situation has changed. You are no longer a captain--”

“It does not matter—“

“And I am no longer your quartermaster…”

“This has nothing to do with our fucking titles.”

“Oh?” said John, mock surprise filling his countenance. “Because aside from Thomas, that is how you framed this argument all those months ago. That, and our discussion by fire that night before the first battle…”

“Jesus!”

James whirled away from him again, so furious he couldn’t form a logical response that didn’t include a slew of foul language. Once again, John’s hand shot out to stop him. James sneered at him, his eye twitching.

“It was you who claimed you might be the death of me, was it not? You who were so fucking cautious about it, about us. You brought it up again when we ended it.”

“Yes, I fucking remember,” John hissed at him, brows knotted in genuine anger, the likes of which James had rarely seen before. It made his entire face grow dark—a look that was singularly familiar to James in a way that deeply disturbed him.

“I only said it because I knew it was what you wanted to hear,” said John. “Maybe even needed to hear in that moment. And because I thought it was the right thing to do. You had Thomas back. But…”

The clouded expression faltered.

“I think I was wrong.”

The silence that followed his words sat unbearably heavy between them so that James felt it was hard to breathe. *Why did you think that?* The question was on the tip of his tongue but he dared not ask it. Instead he swallowed several times, clenching his hand into a fist until his blunt nails dug into his skin.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, truly I am,” he said at last, voice deadened. “But Thomas and I are…private.”

It was the best explanation he had so he let it slip out and continued, “You can never understand, no matter how much I tell you. You’ll just have to—”

He stopped abruptly. John snatched it away from him.

“Just have to what?” he asked scathingly. “Just get over it? Get over you? Would you have me visit the brothel? Perhaps grab a few quick blow jobs back on the ship? Maybe take a prize and fuck the ship’s boy—”

James squeezed his eyes shut until it hurt. The heaviness in his chest now ached.

“Stop,” he breathed out. “Just…stop.”

He opened his eyes and John’s expression slowly changed from anger into something else. His brows came together, steel blue eyes growing tender. Too late, James realized he hadn’t been able to cloak the damage John’s words evoked in him. John’s hand came up, fingers just brushing against his beard before retracting them. James felt the touch like a spark, burning so intensely but gone as soon as it was felt.

“I’m sorry,” said John.

“It’s nothing.”

He’d said it automatically; a well practiced and familiar defense mechanism, rarely ever spoken out loud but rehearsed countless times over many years in his mind. This time, however, it didn’t work. John’s eyes swept over him, taking in his entire form before he shrugged out of his long coat and let it drop to the ground. In the same motion he leaned forward and forcefully wrapped his arms around James’s midsection, trapping both his arms against his ribs, and kissed him.

James weakly tried to push him away, but to remove John’s limbs from his own meant applying force and James found he could not.

John’s lips moved over his own, tongue demanding entrance, while he pressed the rest of his body flush against James’s so that James felt everything from John’s hard chest and stomach, his small but thick thighs and legs, and the press of his half-hard cock against his own. It was a dizzying mixture of cool and warm, hard and soft flesh along with a dampness from the pond that made James’s legs weak and his cock grow hard.

“No,” he forced out, pulling his head away from John. But John persisted stubbornly, forcing him back until he stumbled and found himself pressed up against the back of the house. He wished to God he was still capable of taking a knife to John’s throat or his own hands and applying pressure. If they had been on the ship, if he was still Captain Flint, James thought fleetingly, he would have. John’s words came rushing back to him:

_But Captain Flint is a *part* of you, whether you like it or not. And you may have to accept that finding yourself again includes making peace with that knowledge._

Would James McGraw have ever slept with John Silver?

“Please,” John breathed out against his ear, hands pressing against his cheeks. “I fucking admit it, I want you. I *need* you.”

James moaned miserably. This was wrong, he knew. This would only lead to trouble. He knew it to be true because he’d lived through it once already. The circumstances were different but the danger was the same. Thomas was Miranda’s husband, and they had both let James know that their shared feelings were just that: mutual and that it was all right. He remembered feeling a kind of peace when all was said and done he found himself lying between them in bed; a safe, warm place. A place where the threats of the outside world could not impede on his happiness.

Or so he had naively thought.

The memories came to him even as John pressed his advantage, kissing him and rubbing a palm over his cock: Memories of John kissing him and of James reaching out to take off his shirt, of how the unique contours of John’s body felt under his hands and of how each new discovery filled him with a powerful craving. And afterwards, when he was filled to the brim and content with John lying next to him, smiling…and what would Thomas think?

He was deceiving Thomas in the worst possible way. What was worse was that James suspected Thomas knew…and he hadn’t said one fucking word about it.

His thoughts shattered as his cock grew harder and his body hotter. John was humping against him, pushing James into the wall. His hands grabbed at James’s thighs and his ass, pulling his lower half into John’s so that John could rub his cock against his stomach. John’s want was written all over him and it made James moan, lips parting. John seized his opportunity, tongue diving inside James’s mouth. James took him in, let John shove his tongue deep so their teeth clacked together. John tasted so good and James allowed it, allowed each and every touch for the simple fact he did not want to see how a second rejection in this moment would look on John’s face. A compromise, then.

He kept his hands at his sides even when John started fucking the space between his thighs, his shaft rubbing under James’s balls and squeezing over the cleft of his ass. John looked up at him, a lock of wet black hair covering his half-mast eyes that were filled with want. He slowed his frantic rutting until he was pushing his cock between James’s legs in a sensual and steady rhythm and James realized with a jolt John intended to come just like this.

He tightened his legs together so that John’s cock was snug against him and he could feel the slide of John’s head, now slick with moisture.

“James,” John whispered into his neck. He gazed up at James in a trance, mouth open and lips red and wet. James resisted the urge to wrap his arms around him, to ply his strong body with kisses. He wanted it very badly, hating himself for it. He tried to picture Thomas in his head and to remind himself this would be for John’s pleasure only. John leaned back, gripping James’s ass cheeks as he fucked harder between his legs. James felt his own cock grow heavy. He leaned his weight back into the wall, allowing John to fuck hard enough through his thighs until their bodies bounced with John’s effort. His breathing grew short and ragged. James’s throat went dry. He finally clamped a hand over John’s ass and carded the other roughly through his hair, keeping him close as John reached the edge. John gritted his teeth, face and chest flushed beautifully, then his face went slack.

“Ohhh,” he moaned out. James felt the warm gush between his legs. John fucked through his orgasm, head falling against James’s chest as James squeezed John’s cock with his thighs, come dripping down the backs of his legs. He heard John sigh under him. When he was spent John pushed up and off of James and made to take his cock in his hand.

“Don’t,” said James, swatting his hand away. John’s brows furrowed.

“But—”

“No.”

James brushed past him and back to the well, washing the come off his legs and then pulling on his trousers over his aching cock, still slick with precum. He didn’t bother throwing on a shirt but instead waltzed through the back door of the house, leaving John standing there looking dumfounded.

As soon as he was in the bedroom James jerked his trousers down and palmed himself, leaning heavily against the door. Fuck, John had him so close, so *wrong,* but so close. It was better this way. They hadn’t had sex. He could live with whatever stinging repercussions Thomas may have for him over this, but they hadn’t fucked.

He was such a shit. The black, vile self-loathing thing that lived inside him raised its ugly head.


	5. Chapter 5

Thomas’s gaze wondered straight across to the wide and relatively empty expanse of sandy land before him. He sat alone at the inn, a newly opened endeavor Jack Rackham had mentioned in passing. It was built and opened by an ex-crewmate, situated on the outskirts of town (or at least that’s how it appeared to Thomas; Nassau was still underdeveloped in many areas, still just a rugged colony). The inn, named the Redfish, had practically no customers anyway, especially at this hour. That, combined with the offbeat location, made it as good a meeting place as any.

Eventually Thomas spotted the distinctive loping gait of John Silver in the distance, making his way towards the inn and with a single man at his side. As they neared, Thomas recognized the much taller man as Billy Bones, James’s old bosun. Thomas’s mouth ticked down in a frown though he wasn’t surprised. He’d come to understand just how untrustworthy pirates were of everyone around them, even one another. It wasn’t anything new to him; politicians in London were much the same, with the one exception that in London, such people wore the façade of friendliness, whereas here there was no pretending.

Thomas’s hand came up to his belt to feel the weight of the knife there before dropping away as he rose to greet John.

Despite the scowl his tall companion wore, John still flashed Thomas the same warming smile he had so many weeks ago, though Thomas could see his eyes were guarded. John extended his hand and Thomas shook it.

“You remember Billy here,” said John, nodding to Mr. Bones, who gave Thomas a curt nod but kept his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“You’ll have to forgive Billy. He isn’t really this angry all the time, it’s just the face.”

John smiled wryly at Billy, who rolled his eyes and made disgruntled sound. Even so his enormous muscles seemed to relax when he perceived no real threat in Thomas.

“That’s quite all right,” said Thomas, sitting down. “I understand the precaution. When I called for this meeting it no doubt peeked your curiosity.”

John sat down at an angle, stretching out his boot out and curling his good leg in under his seat. He threw an arm up over the chair, rubbing a thumb over one of his silver rings.

“I do admit it was highly unexpected…and unusual,” he added. Thomas watched as his steel blue eyes seemed to survey him like a piece of land, getting the measure of his expression, his posture. This was a game he knew well but had always thought was limited to the noblemen he had done business with back in London, men whom his father spoke to. He’d detested most of them, though he always had a respect for men who could play the game was well as he.

John, it seemed, was such a man. That new knowledge both excited and frightened Thomas.

No wonder James was attracted to him. All that, combined with that damnable smile and charm.

“I hope you don’t mind terribly,” said Thomas, “but I was hoping we could have this conversation in private. I assure you, Mr. Bones, I’m not going to deceive or threaten Mr. Silver in any way.”

Thomas looked at Billy apologetically. Billy’s eyes—also blue—swept over Thomas. It was not quite in the fashion as John had just done. Thomas had to force a smile from creeping over his face when he realized Billy was looking at him in the way he’d been looked over by women before.

Nassau, it seemed, had a very interesting mix of pirates here.

John met Billy’s gaze and jerked his head towards the bar at the inn.

“Go on. Have a drink or two. I’m fine.”

Billy’s eyes darted from one to the other before turning and walking towards the bar. Now it was only he and John, with no one else in earshot. Thomas cradled his mug in his hands, though he’d scarcely drank out of it. He noticed that John had done the same with the mug that had been waiting for him.

“You ordered a drink for me?” he asked Thomas now, brow raised.

Thomas chuckled. “Forgive me, but it seems as though you act as if I’m some conundrum whenever we’re around one another, as if even the most mundane gesture confuses you somehow.”

John deliberately licked his lips and took a drink from the mug, eyes peering at Thomas’s from over the brim.

“You’re not wrong,” he said after a beat, setting the mug down very gently. “It’s just I’m not used to one of your…kind, for lack of a better term. Don’t take it the wrong way, but I think when people see you, it reminds them of places like London, or Mandrid, or Amsterdam, or any number of cities whose people and their lives are far, far removed from this place.”

Thomas smiled and thought before replying.

“I remind you of what you left behind, then?” he asked.

John shrugged, perhaps too quickly.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s got nothing to do with the fact that you’re not a pirate or smuggler or even a seaman. Perhaps it’s something else entirely. And it is that thing, I believe, that makes James attracted to you.”

There was the glow of smug victory sparkling in John’s eyes.

“Sounds like you’ve spent some time thinking about this,” Thomas dared.

John met his gaze before flicking away to look out at the expanse of land around the inn. The tall weeds blew in the breeze, hissing together and creating a gentle cacophony around them in the silence.

“Why don’t you tell me why you called this meeting,” John said in an even tone. “Normally I’d love to indulge you in whatever game this is, as I’ve been told I’m quite gifted at such games, but I’m a busy man nowadays, Mr. Hamilton.”

Thomas scoffed softly.

“Mr. Hamilton. I haven’t been called that in some time.”

John looked down at his mug.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s fine,” said Thomas quickly. “It is still my name, I suppose. Though I’ve been wondering about changing it to McGraw.”

John’s eyes snapped back up to him, growing uncomfortable. Thomas didn’t want to scare him away, but he needed to be sure. Before John could respond he quickly continued, “I told you I had a business proposition for you today. It was a half-truth. I have an offer to make, though I don’t think ‘business’ to be the right word.”

He gauged John’s expression, watching the blue eyes study him again, struggling to put the pieces of the puzzle together on his own.

“If this has something to do with James,” said John, “I’d just assume to turn you down now—”

“It has everything to do with James,” Thomas cut him off. He pushed his mug away and planted his arms over the table top. John followed his movements and sighed, mirthless smile coming to his face.

“Look, Thomas, whatever James has told you about our partnership—”

“Hardly anything,” Thomas interrupted him again. “He told me of some of your adventures together, of the beginning of the war. He mentioned vaguely about coming to trust you—I never could wrangle any details from him—and he was even less open about why your partnership ended when I told him I didn’t believe it was simply because of my return.”

John’s face tightened visibly.

“Mr. Hamilton, I really don’t have time for whatever this is…”

“You were calling me Thomas until a few minutes ago.”

John rose from the table and Thomas matched his movements, taking the opportunity to move in close to him.

“John, please just listen.”

John leaned over the railing to the side of the inn, letting the breeze blow directly in his face. Thomas saw his knuckles were white against the peeling wood.

“What is it?” he asked brusquely, turning to face Thomas once more.

Thomas lowered his voice and steadied himself.

“I believe that, as I said earlier, you have given lots of thought about my relationship with James. I believe you’ve done so because of your own interest in James.”

He watched intently as subtle changes passed over John’s face before a passive anger settled in there.

“I believe the partnership you and he ended was more than just a professional one, and that my return coincided with this partnership…”

“Now, wait a minute…”

Thomas rambled on; there was no way to stop himself now even if he had wanted to.

“…And that’s the reason why James stopped seeing you, not because he wanted to, but because he felt obligated to.”

John had been ready to interrupt—probably to shout at him from look on his face—but now he hesitated. The angry lines on his forehead smoothed somewhat. Thomas had him. He plunged on, “He felt obligated to, because he loves me. But that in no way negates any feelings he undoubtedly has for you. So I’m offering you an opportunity to make peace with him, to resolve this so that the three of us might find some measure of peace again.”

“The three of us?” John snapped, looking wide-eyed at him. There was a panic there Thomas could remember seeing in James so long ago.

John snickered.

“Oh Thomas, you are truly mad,” he said. “And even if you weren’t…”

John released his grip on the railing and turned to him, all traces of panic veiled under the mask Thomas saw instead.

“…Do you honestly think that James would approve? After all, he doesn’t know you’re here, does he? Doesn’t know about this meeting.”

He shot the words at him like a barb. Thomas gave him a thin smile. “No, he doesn’t. If you know James as well as I think you do, then you know he’d die before ever admitting his feelings to anyone.”

Now it was Thomas’s turn to look away. He felt John’s eyes on him as he did so.

“It was I who kissed him first,” Thomas said, his voice sounding odd to him as he remembered that night at dinner over a decade ago. “Don’t misunderstand; James kissed me back passionately and with just the barest hesitation, but it was a move he himself would not have made. I’d wager it was the same with you.”

Thomas turned to look at the other man. John was watching him guardedly, though Thomas could tell his mind was reeling. Otherwise, he’d have left already.

“He didn’t tell you. That we were together,” said John, halfway between a statement and a question. Thomas’s heart clenched. He took a deep breath.

“No. But I suspected.”

“It wasn’t long. We…had a night together,” John said slowly and as if the words tasted funny on his tongue. “It was only days after that we spotted the ship, the ship you were on. Once he saw you, it was over.”

He spoke the words like a brick dropping and landing with finality, never to be moved again. John was as adept at hiding his feelings as James was, Thomas realized with a sad shock.

“But you still care for him. Still want him,” he said softly.

John’s eyes hardened. He spun away from Thomas and drained his mug from the table.

“It doesn’t matter. He has you. He’s not alone anymore.”

“But he wants you.”

He’d spoken it even softer, barely above a whisper. John was seconds away from bolting like a deer the closer Thomas got to peeling away his layers.

“I’ve got to go,” said John. “Billy!”

Billy’s name came out loud and harsh on his lips, making Thomas jump slightly.

“Please consider this,” Thomas said as Billy paid for his drink at the bar and made his way over. Compulsively Thomas grabbed John by the arm, forcing the other to look at him.

“Neither one of us wants to see him suffer anymore than he already has. And I know you’ve seen him suffer.”

Something in John’s hard gaze nearly broke all at once, his layers peeled back and raw. *There,* Thomas thought. He released John’s arm just as John jerked away from him, jaw tightening again as Billy rejoined him. They left abruptly, with John giving him little more than a cordial ‘good day, sir’ farewell. Thomas stayed and drank at the inn until his thoughts became just blurry and jumbled enough for him to laugh at himself. Then he mounted his horse and rode home.

__________________

They finished the roof in the next few days. Another rainstorm late one night allowed James to see if their repairs were good enough, and they were. The buckets littering the floor were blessedly empty.

John still arrived the following morning, uncertain if they would need to make further adjustments. He was uptight and tense as they chatted lightly about the farm house and other things James might do. He knew John was no doubt aggravated over how their last encounter had ended, but James had been as kind as he knew how to be, given how John had attempted to seduce him again.

He would simply have to get over it.

And yet his own feelings in the matter bothered him to no end. He spent most nights falling asleep with John on his mind. When he woke up it was even worse, his head in that space where his conscious thoughts were still dull and left without inhibition and he’d fantasize about John until everything ached and throbbed.

John left at midday that day, turning down lunch and leaving the farmhouse with a wave. James watched him leave, feeling as though he’d never see him again. The idea sunk into him with heavy dread until he was furious at himself and his eyes stung with tears. He’d spun away from Thomas on the porch and stormed out back. They’d never spoken of it.

___________________

Life carried on. He would sit with Thomas against the shed wall, watching the fish hawk return to its perch to eat fish. Thomas wanted to name it something literary. He and James went through names until James said Jonathon Swift.

“Yes, brilliant!” Thomas had laughed. “Mr. Swift it is.”

On the nights they made love Thomas would turn his head on the pillow and see the unnamed sorrow written on James’s face. He hated it; hated the way those green-gray eyes could look so lost when James thought no one was looking. When Thomas gently prodded him he would smile sweetly and say it was nothing, that he just missed the sea sometimes.

Thomas suspected ‘the sea’ really meant something else, and it was screaming on the tip of his tongue to speak the name but he held back and instead would wrap his arms around James and kiss him. Sometimes they would make love again and Thomas would take him, mounting him and moving inside him almost languidly just to watch James let all his worries slip away, his face one of pure bliss as he pulled Thomas down to him and kissed him deeply.

Yet even then Thomas would swear to himself there was a sadness lurking there.

__________________

He’d gotten the letter from the carrier boy early in the evening. It was addressed to James Flint. He recognized the handwriting instantly.

John had some ship’s business he wanted to discuss, and from the coy nature of his wording James figured what he meant was that he needed help again. He tried to bury the feeling of delight that threatened to bubble up in his chest at the prospect of seeing John again. He wanted to meet on the same hilltop they’d looked at the stars on. James chalked that up to John being a sappy shit. He wrote a return letter and gave it to the carrier boy.

__________________

John reached the hilltop. He leaned heavily on his good leg, his half leg having finally begun its inevitable ache at the stump when he was only a few yards from the top. He was seriously considering using a crutch. The more he thought about it now the less bothered by it he was. So much had changed since he’d first lost the leg. He was liked, respected, and now feared all at once, to the point where something like a crutch would do little to diminish him in the eyes of others.

His thoughts drifted away from the leg and back to more pressing matters. He looked in the direction the small skiff was, too far to see from this angle. It waited for him, if after his meeting with James he decided he would need it to return to the Walrus, never to lay eyes on this place again.

Once he had realized he could not be friends with James yet loathed the idea of being his enemy, this seemed like the next most feasible alternative—sail away and give himself time to forget it all.

He told himself these things as plainly and logically as he knew how but still there was a bite, a sting to it all. God, how he hated emotions. No, that was a lie. He wished he hated them, wished James had never opened him up to their tight and slick and hot feel, to their gentle caresses and stares, the way it seemed as though he could see into James’s very soul. And how he craved it after that first glimpse, craved it so fast and desperately; to see the man he never knew had existed, revealed to him in his nakedness at last.

The monster slain. The man reborn. Time and distance could never undo that, John knew with a bitter taste. They could never be *only* friends. He wasn’t certain about James, but John knew himself well enough to know that his greed extended beyond power. He _wanted_ James. Wanted him raw and naked and exposed in every way he could be. Jesus, the way James had felt inside him…

John closed and eyes and muttered a curse. Perhaps he should go ahead and make up his mind to leave now, before James even arrived. Perhaps that would be best. More convenient. Didn’t John Silver always prefer the more convenient thing to survive? Do what he must. Steal a page. Lie. Deceive. Stay with a crew for strength. Bond with its captain. Everything had gone sideways after that, hadn’t it?

A wry smile graced John’s lips at that thought.

_________________

 

John was already there when James arrived, body turned towards the sea, leaning his weight on his good leg. There was a strong breeze coming in off the beach which felt good against the heat of the sun, its presence still strong even as it had begun its journey towards the western horizon. Its light coated everything in a deep gold hue, including John.

James came and stood slightly off to one side. The ocean stretched wide and endless before them. There were two ships visible. The closest to them was off to the left, her stern facing the beach. The second was farther away, coming towards them. James tried to make them out.

“That’s the Colonial Dawn departing,” said John with a nod towards the closer ship, opening her main sails as the wind caught them and sent them billowing out. “Jack and Anne received word there’s a small fleet made up of sloops on its way to the northern colonies. They think they have a chance at intercepting it. And if I’m not mistaken…”

John gestured to the incoming ship. “That’s Black Bart, returning after a long stint in Madagascar. Word is there’s as many pirates amassing there now as here. People are starting to think of it as a stronger hold against the colonizing powers.”

James turned to him. John remained gazing out to sea.

“Well it’s good to know I’ll have someone to sound the alarm when the British do return,” James said drolly, quirking a smile, but it wasn’t returned.

“It is inevitable,” replied John. “Only a matter of time until life here is once again disrupted, until we are once again fighting for our right to live and steal freely.”

He said the last bit with some of the old heavy sarcasm James had grown so comfortable with. Yet still he stared straight ahead.

“What’s troubling you?” James asked as plainly as he could.

John wetted his lips, brushed his hair away from his face.

“It’s as I said,” he replied softly. “We don’t know how much time we have.”

Quite suddenly James was wondering over John’s use of the word ‘we.’ John turned and started walking across the top of the hill. James watched him for a moment, his chest tightening as anxiety crept up in him. When John kept walking he finally followed him, until John stopped again, back to him and arms crossed.

“Thomas and I had a meeting a few weeks ago at a new inn in town. I don’t suppose he ever mentioned it to you.”

James blinked.

“What?”

“He said he had a business proposition for me. Some business it was.”

James thought he heard John chuckle but it was lost to the wind.

“What on earth are you talking about?” James huffed out, stepping up beside him and resisting the urge to reach out and yank John so he was facing him.

John licked his lips again.

“He didn’t even ask questions, you know. Just started making statements, had you and I all figured out. He’s fucking clever, I’ll give you that. I can see how he challenges you.”

James clenched his teeth together, trying to calm the gathering panic rising up in him.

“John, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Now John turned to him, eyes wide and as vast as the ocean that somehow had never left James, no matter how much soil he tilled or chicken wire he built.

“He didn’t even have to entrap me into telling him about us,” John continued. “Somehow he pulled it out of me so very gently, like he knew I wanted to say it, to speak the words out loud that you and I were intimate.”

James closed his eyes. They were dry and stung behind his eyelids. He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.

“Damnit,” he muttered. He’d been right. Thomas had known. Yet he never thought that Thomas would go to John about this. Why the hell would he tell John?

John let out a short laugh and James realized he’d mumbled the question out loud without meaning to.

“I asked myself that for days on end,” replied John. “But I had to keep reminding myself I wasn’t dealing with a ruthless captain or trying to negotiate with a first mate. I was dealing with Thomas Hamilton, the one and only. And I realized everything you told me about him was true, and that he’s fucking amazing…and ballsy as hell.”

James had opened his eyes but everything except for John’s face was out of focus, and he forgot about the ocean and the ships on it and the disturbing news about Madagascar and even the wind on his face. John was watching him carefully.

“He wanted the two of us to make peace with one another. I told him it was pointless because you never would. He…disagreed with me without ever saying as much. So here I am. Like a fucking idiot, because I figured what the hell? It’s not as though I’ve got anything left to lose…again. My limbs notwithstanding, that is.”

James turned from him, taking in several gulps of air that did little to alleviate the suffocating feeling that he couldn’t bed down. He racked his fingers through his hair until it hurt.

“You’re a fucking torturer, John Silver, do you know that?”

His voice wavered, as inconsistent as the gusts of wind around them, which seemed to have gotten stronger. Dimly he saw that a storm was blowing in from the east, still a ways off but close enough to send stronger gusts of wind over the bare hilltop. Below them the glass-like surface of the sea was upset, large swells disrupting the illusion.

“You’re one to talk,” came the reply from close behind him. James turned. John’s eyes were moist but his expression was stony.

“Just tell me one thing and I promise to leave you alone,” he said. “Tell me you care for me. At least give me that much, because otherwise your boyfriend is a fucking madman for even leading me to *think* you give a shit. Then at least I can leave all this behind with some sense of peace.”

James recognized the emotion rollicking violently inside John, saw his own reflection there and how hard John struggled to keep it concealed, as if he could just keeping digging a hole deep enough. Eventually, James knew, the hole would become so deep he would fall into it, numb to all the world.

He feared that for John, feared it so much it scared the shit out of him because he could no longer hide parts of himself away anymore, not since Thomas had returned to him.

“I do care,” James said, swallowing hard. “But you must understand, I would do anything to protect Thomas, no matter what. And I trust you now, I love you…”

John had looked away from him and into the oncoming wind, his jaw clenched together fiercely. James struggled to find his voice.

“…And I believe that in this moment you cannot conceive of ever doing anything to break either of those things between us. But if there comes a day when you feel you must do something to betray that trust—”

John let out a choked laugh, teeth flashing as a tear streaked his face.

“You took my warning to heart, I see. Resolved yourself to keep me from being your end. I’ve done the same. Where does that leave us?”

James couldn’t answer him. His throat felt swollen. His heard pounded against his chest as though it wanted to escape the prison of his ribs.

Miranda had always said he was one of the most passionate men she had ever known. It took him a while to realize what she had truly meant.

“That’s the future,” James finally said. “Fuck the future.”

He took John’s face in his hands and kissed him, feeling his dry lips against his own as the wind picked up even more around them and chilled James’s arm, but the heat from John’s body as he slid an arm under his coat and pulled him close kept the chill at bay.

John moaned into James’s mouth, fingers wrapping themselves into James’s shirt and tugging so that their bodies touched, belt buckles clinking together. James felt his entire body light up and tingle. _This is not wrong._

John broke away with a gasp and planted a palm over his chest.

“But why?” he asked earnestly. “Why the fuck would you do this all over again? When you know the risks, the dangers, the possible pain that lies ahead, especially if England re-takes this place?”

James shook his head without hesitation, stroking John’s cheek with his thumb and touching the creases at the corner of his eye. He realized with a start that John had never been in love before.

He remembered Miranda and Thomas in London, of the glorious days and nights spent in their company, of pouring over charts, then books and plays, of the salons made more interesting with silly antics and knowing looks thrown across the room, of countless lunches and dinners and eventually breakfast in bed. He remembered it all with more vividness and accuracy than he had in a long, long time.

He even remembered waking up to golden sunlight streaming in through the windows and the lazy specks of dust that floated there like so many living things and how wonderful that had been, and had appeared even more beautiful when Thomas had wrapped his arm around him and kissed him good morning.

He also remembered looking Charles Vane in the eyes on a beach and asking him a fundamental question—‘Who are you?’— meant in that moment to goad him into reconsidering his position with Edward Teach, but the question had still been an *honest* question. And Vane had known it, had seen there was no lie in such a question. And James knew it again to be true because he knew the answer to it for himself.

The day was waning faster as the storm blew in. James scarcely paid it any attention. He looked at John’s eyes in the dying light and said, “It’s just who I am.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is it. Really this epilogue was a shameless excuse to include a threesome scene, but then again this is an important thing for John so yea. Anyway I hope everyone enjoyed this. Feedback always appreciated, and thanks for reading! <333

Epilogue

*

John was nervous, more nervous than he could remember being in a long time. The feeling only worsened once the bedroom door closed behind him, but then James walked over and opened it to a wide crack.

“It’s just the three of us,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to feel trapped.”

What the fuck? That James sensed his fear made him irritated…followed closely by a sense of relief.

By the bed Thomas was already in his breeches, sitting on the edge and looking to John as though this were nothing out of the ordinary. Which, John quickly reminded himself, it wasn’t for the other man. No, this was only new to himself.

James was beside him, hand on the back of his neck and coaxing him into a kiss. John gave himself a few seconds to melt into it, trying to relax. And Jesus, was James being so fucking gentle. He nuzzled John’s hair, nipping along the shell of his ear and to his neck. John tried to reciprocate but he was so damn nervous. He cursed inwardly.

“We don’t have to do this now,” said James. “We can wait.”

But John firmly shook his head. “No. I want this. I do. I’m just…this isn’t an area of expertise for me.”

James fixed him with a lop-sided smile and John cursed himself again. How stupid that must have sounded, though James’s smile didn’t seem to be mocking.

“Just focus on me,” said James.

And James kissed him again. John glimpsed at Thomas, curious, but Thomas remained apart from them for the time being, a smile on his lips as well as he watched them. John wasn’t used to seeing other men like this, so… _exposed._ And so comfortable with it. He certainly wasn’t.

But James was working him slowly, kissing him as though they had all the time in the world. Fuck, his lips felt so good against John’s. James had naturally dry lips, but after a minute or two of their kissing sessions John always delighted in the moment they became moist against his own. The same happened now and John tasted him, sucked on a bottom lip and then went for James’s tongue. James hummed softly against him.

Bit by bit John felt braver. He let his hands wonder inside the opening to James’s shirt, calloused palms gliding over his broad chest, peppered with red hair. John played with a nipple, testing. James hummed again and John though he felt the other man shiver. James opened his mouth wider over John’s and kissed him with greater force.

When it became apparent that James wasn’t going to start stripping layers off of John as he had during their one night together John kissed him harder. James was letting him control this part, letting him decide his comfort level.

Surely this was how it had been with Miranda, as well?

Feeling better—though still with butterflies in his stomach—John peeling off his coat and pulled his shirt out from his belt. Moments later James’s hands wrapped themselves around his waist and up his back, sliding over his skin and pressing in.

John stifled a moan, though his breathing grew heavier against James’s lips, which never strayed far from his own. It got to the point that John grew a little frustrated with having to initiate each step. He pulled off his shirt and unbuckled his pants. James matched him, motion for motion, until they were both in their breeches. John had to sit down to remove his pants leg from the boot, but it was second nature to him by now and he barely felt any embarrassment over it.

John stepped back from James, licking his lips and drinking him in. He wanted to say out loud, “God I fucking love your freckles,” but he worried it would sound foolish in front of Thomas. Instead he hoped his eyes spoke it for him. He bent down and took a nipple in his mouth until it was stiff to the touch and James moaned, carding his fingers through John’s hair and making sure to lightly drag his fingertips along his scalp. John was amazed he remembered how much he had liked that from before.

When John met James’s mouth again Thomas was behind James, kissing the nape of his neck, on hand massaging up and down James’s bare arm. John found himself memorized by how milky and clear Thomas’s hand looked against the mass clusters of freckles.

He also found himself with a sizeable erection.

James turned his head to kiss Thomas just as slowly and deeply as he’d kissed John and John felt butterflies of a different nature flutter to life deep in his belly. Was this how he and James had looked together, so sensual and at ease? He could scarcely believe men could be like this, least of all the hardened pirates whom he spent the majority of his time around this past year and a half.

They made their way to the bed. Yet even here James took his time, rubbing and fondling John’s crotch languidly yet still making him hard as a rock. John saw that James was also straining his breeches. He finally let out a groan.

“What do you want?” asked James in a whisper.

The question caught him off guard. What, indeed?

From the other side of James Thomas kissed his lover’s shoulder, hand wrapping itself around James’s chest. His blue eyes caught John’s own and suddenly John felt subdued in under the gaze of those eyes, so like his own…and yet there was something behind them that screamed out ‘mine’ as Thomas pushed his tongue deep inside James’s mouth, eyes flicking from John down to James.

What, exactly, were the boundaries here?

“I…don’t know,” John confessed. “What’s allowed? What should I do?”

He stopped himself from asking more idiotic questions. Jesus, why was he so inarticulate with this? He was able to seduce cold-blooded murderers into taking bullets for him, certainly, but to let himself be seduced sexually was never something he had prepared for.

Even the first time around with James, John had been just as domineering as James had in those first few desperate minutes of needing to feel each other. That was what he was used to…quick and hard and fast. Not this slow burn. And yet it felt better than anything that had come before it.

“Whatever you want,” said James, brushing over his chin with a thumb. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

John considered this while sinking into the sea green eyes that searched his. John pulled himself away from them to look at Thomas.

“And you?”

Thomas smiled at him.

“Don’t worry about me. Just focus on James for now.”

Focus on James. Okay.

John lay back on the bed and bent his legs, spreading them. James took some lubrication and worked it over his cock He gently massaged it over John’s hole, which had John stifling off whimpers as James’s fingers pressed gently to test his resistance.

While James worked him open John watched Thomas’s hand disappear behind James’s back and dip down. James closed his eyes and let out a low moan. John’s cock twitched. So, this is how it would happen. Fucking hell.

When James finally pushed the tip of his cock inside John, John gasped and curled his fingers into the bed sheets. James held himself as he gently eased his tip in and out, pushing in deeper each time. He leaned on his knuckles over John once he was halfway in and started fucking him. John felt heat shoot through him and sweat break out over his forehead. He whispered softly, “Oh yes.”

To have James inside him again after so long was like a slice of heaven. James’s cock filled him and his hole wrapped around his girth perfectly. James pushed all the way in to his balls and draped himself over John, kissing him deeply. The first audible moan escaped over John’s lips. He grabbed the back of James’s head.

“Fuck James,” he said in a ragged tone. James looked at him through half-lidded eyes, pupils huge and black and filled with desire. He started fucking him again, their skin sliding together until John could hear the faint but distinct fapping sound. He groaned out loud again.

From behind James John realized Thomas was just now penetrating him. He watched James’s reaction, spell-bound, when Thomas pushed inside him. James arched his back slightly and panted. He turned his head and enveloped the blonde in another fierce kiss, their mouths hovering together as Thomas shifted and began fucking him. John felt his cock ache at the sight. He reached down and took up his shaft and pulled on it.

James set up a pace between them, until he was grinding himself back and forth, impaling himself on Thomas’s cock and ramming into John’s ass. John closed his eyes and threw his head back onto the bed, in complete bliss.

 _You feel so fucking good,_ he wanted to say out loud. James’s cock slid in and out of him, fast and hard, then slower and more deliberate. Soon all that made up John’s world was the hard flesh of the men before him, pumping and sweating in time with his own, the squeaking of the bed as it danced to their tune, and the sweet and musky smell of sex that permeated the air.

At some point Thomas picked up his pace, slamming hard into James and making his cock drive into John. John moaned. Everything pulsed and burned and god, he just wanted it to go on forever. He reached up for James and James bent down over him as best he could without disrupting Thomas. He stared down at John and John was shocked at how wrecked his former captain was.

James pressed his index and middle finger to John’s lips. Brazenly John met his gaze again and realized what James wanted. He opened his mouth. James instantly plunged his fingers inside, wet from slick. His eyes closed as John sucked and rolled his tongue around James’s fingers so that James let out a loud moan and cursed softly. He threw his head back as Thomas kept up a fast pace. John strained around James’s shoulder to see the other man. Thomas was on his knees, back straight and staring down at James’s ass.

“Now that’s a view I’ve always appreciated,” said John without fully meaning to.

Yet it seemed to break whatever remaining tension John thought there was. James huffed out a soft laugh. So did Thomas, catching his gaze but this time holding it. John surprised himself by not looking away. Thomas’s sapphire eyes were heavy, his cheeks flushed and hairline wet. Still watching John, he paused and shifted so that he could grab John’s ankle. John let him lift his leg up in the air. James paused while Thomas pulled himself in, hands moving tentatively up John’s calf. John kept his half leg tucked into James’s side, where James clutched at his just under his knee.

James let out another whimper as Thomas shifted inside him. John made no objections. Thomas then started fucking full force into James, who let out a moan and a curse. His whole body moved, cock bouncing around inside John. It wasn’t quite fucking, but John was so close to the edge that even the slightest jostle sent bolts of pleasure through him. His balls ached for release. James buried himself deep and let the momentum from Thomas work John for him. He did manage to buck into John at a particular angle and…

“Oh, fuck,” whimpered John.

James’s entire chest was flushed under his red hair. John had never seen him so overcome, so…at _peace,_ even if he was technically working himself like a bull between the two of them. Thomas bit and kissed his shoulder messily, watching James’s reaction to his fucking and clearly aroused by it. John wasn’t certain if there was any part of this he wasn’t aroused by, which jarred him. He’d only been with men a handful of times, never with a lover before, and _certainly_ never with two at once.

It occurred to him that James was floating close to the precipice. He bucked his hips upward and James slurred out some curses. A half-formed smile managed to form over John’s lips.

“Yes, come for me, come for us,” said Thomas behind him. It was then John realized that together, he and Thomas could make James orgasm first. The very idea made him groan and he clutched the sheets harder.

John shuffled up on his elbows to buck up harder against James’s cock and again James let out a whimper that was dangerously lacking control. John could have reached orgasm just from hearing such a noise.

He didn’t. Instead he locked eyes with Thomas again and together they both made James whimper and curse softly, until his breathing came in short gasps and John watched the euphoria wash over his otherwise grim features into pure bliss. He pulled out of John as he came and jerked his cock furiously, shooting over John’s stomach and chest. Behind him Thomas encouraged him softly, peering over his shoulder to watch.

James wasted no time in bending down and licking some of the come off of John. John sifted his fingers in James’s returning hair, loving the sensation of James’s tongue snaking over his bare flesh. John felt a warm and slick palm wrap itself around his shaft. James shifted down until he could suck on the tip, and no amount of mental denial could stop John’s climax from taking hold and sending him spilling into James’s waiting mouth.

He even watched, still aroused, when Thomas came over James’s hole and pushed back in, fucking him with such care and tenderness and chaste kisses John knew it was love.

When it was over John pulled on his trousers and made to leave the room, but James stopped him.

“You don’t have to go,” he said. The sea-green eyes—they were ash-colored now—were still soft and open. More than James’s words John believed those eyes.

Perhaps, just perhaps, James was looking at him the way he did Thomas. Perhaps it was love. In a moment as surreal as it was terrifying clear John knew he wanted that from James, wanted it _all_ and to _himself._ He wanted to devour James in every way, to know him in all his raw nakedness; good and bad, in equal amounts. If he were to just take it one day…?

Such thoughts made him almost gasp for another breath before he caught himself and sat laid back down on the bed next to James. Thomas was on the other side, already half asleep. John bore no ill will towards James’s lover, nor did he particularly want to see him hurt. And yet…

But his deeper thoughts scattered when James pushed back the locks of damp curls that had stuck to his face, hand coming down to rest over his sternum. God, any touch at all from him was intoxicating now, making his skin tingle pleasantly.

John pushed back his harsh thoughts. Too harsh, he decided, for this moment. Why not just bask in this? Why not enjoy what he had attained after so much struggling?

He was half-asleep when James mumbled sleepily next to his ear, “Don’t let it all go to your head, you shit.”

It was a jest, a small tease. James’s voice was like melted silk. John felt the chills run up and down his arms. He pushed that away, too. Tomorrow would be a day like none other for him. Even as he felt the sandman whispering to him, he knew deep down that he was not just a part of some _thing_ now—a crew, a rebellion, a leader—he was part of two _people,_ and that perhaps, just perhaps, he no longer needed to fear it. 

\---------

_Have you ever had one of those days when something just seems to be trying to tell you somebody?_

~John Constantine, in Sandman #3: "Dream a Little Dream of Me"

 _The most important thing about power is to make sure you don't have to use it._

~Edwin Land


End file.
